


Drops of Red

by pmaculata



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bloodplay, Drabble, F/F, NSFW, Rainbow Drinkers, Vampirism, even at yale, god thats a lot of blood, hey rose maybe DONT let kanaya just freaking suck your blood whenever she wants, i am a filthy homestuck, i mean i know its sexy but seriously, i wrote this like 2 days ago at yale's campus, ur gonna die of blood loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmaculata/pseuds/pmaculata
Summary: You love it when she bites you, not a careful lover's nip, curious like a month-old kitten, and not like a rending tear of flesh either--like how you imagine the Donner Party might have devoured their fallen comrades. No, it's like neither of those, but not in between the two either--instead it's a combination, it's both at the same time, it's a careful ballet of trust and gore and love and caring that leaves round, symmetrical holes on your collarbone and suspicious red stains on your bed.





	

It runs down your neck, sticky and warm like treacle and smelling faintly of iron and metal and a sharp scent that burns your nose in a good way, in a way that excites you and sends tingles down your neck and limbs, in a way that makes you crave more of the sensation. Her lips curve around the source of the liquid, pooling it into her mouth and onto her tongue, sharp teeth grazing the sensitive skin around the holes it oozes from, then moving away so her pointed tongue can probe them gently, carefully teasing apart the skin and letting pain (sweet, but sour on the edges) and redness blossom and bloom right in the crook where your neck meets your shoulderblade. She laps up the blood and it hurts but not in a bad way, more like a pull grounding you to the earth, to the moment that's happening as it happens.   
Then she kisses you, and in the dim light of your wife's glow you see your blood mingling with her saliva and that mingling with yours, red smears on the fleshy green and black patchwork tapestry of her carefully-applied makeup all now gone to naught for the dual purposes of feeding herself and pleasuring her wife. You. Pleasuring you.   
You love it when she bites you, not a careful lover's nip, curious like a month-old kitten, and not like a rending tear of flesh either--like how you imagine the Donner Party might have devoured their fallen comrades. No, it's like neither of those, but not in between the two either--instead it's a combination, it's both at the same time, it's a careful ballet of trust and gore and love and caring that leaves round, symmetrical holes on your collarbone and suspicious red stains on your bed.  
It's one of the many, many intertwining reasons why you love her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
